


Model Behavior

by Lucy_Claire



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: College AU, F/M, Model Adrien Agreste
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy_Claire/pseuds/Lucy_Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Marinette chose a life art summer course in her future fashion school she knew she was going to draw real people, models in fact, but what she wasn't expecting was that the class's female model would get switched with Adrien Agreste at the last minute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Art class AU Adrinette (with Adrien as a model)?

The summer before college Marinette managed to convince Alya to take an art class with her. At first Alya protested a little, saying that she needed to work on her blog and she already suffered through mandatory art class in school and that their duo needed only one artist but after a lot of insistent begging accompanied by passionate hopping from Marinette, Alya caved.

The class was part of a summer activities course held by Marinette’s future art school, _École supérieure des arts et techniques de la mode_ or, to save time and air, ESMOD. This was the only time the school was open to non-attendees, an offer to draw in prospective students or have people brush up on their drawing skills, because how else can you design realistic clothes for people if you can’t get the human body and all its proportions right by itself?

Marinette bounced with excitement down the halls of ESMOD, she really pitied Tikki for putting up with the shaking of Marinette’s bag, as it shook and swung around with every overenthusiastic move Marinette made on their way to the classroom. Alya just walked at her own pace, one hand holding the strap of her bag and the other scrolling through her phone, constantly refreshing her Ladyblog to check the number of visitors and comments.

“—and I’m thinking, once I have the whole hyperrealistic part of figure drawing down I learn a few shading tricks so I can actually imitate the shine and consistency of the material I want to make the dress with. I mean, I already have a steady hand from sewing and using scissors and even baking, but drawing outlines on cloth before cutting it has to be one of the most nerve-wracking things in the world!” Marinette rambled excitedly, gesturing wildly, imitating the snip of scissors with her fingers and mimicking sewing and drawing in the air in front of her as she skipped sideways, upper body facing Alya. “‘So I hope this class gives me the extra boost of confidence and skill. If I learn how to draw hair and shade muscles and shadows then outlining the skirt and sleeves of a dress on a stretch of satin won’t be that daunting anymore, now would it?”

Alya’s eyes looked up the screen of her phone, its light reflecting off her glasses. “Girl, would you just relax? You’re already good at what you do, why else would you get accepted into a school this picky with its students?”

Marinette held the back of her head and twirled around once, letting out a nervous “Bah! Don’t say that! Getting my foot through the door is just the start, now I have to prove that I belong here.”

“You do,” Alya assured her, tapping a message out on her phone with her thumb.

“It’s this place is supposed to have a seventy-five percent guarantee of a job in the industry, and one its patrons is Gabriel Agreste!” Marinette exclaimed, waving her hands above her head, the words Gabriel Agreste alone warranted their own dramatic gesturing, and at least three exclamation marks. “I have to be the best of the best here if I want to work for M. Agreste!”

Alya put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her intense flailing. “How about you be the best you can be, since as you are right now is pretty impressive on your own.”

“You think so?”

Alya nodded, chin raised in pride. “You know it. You’re going to be putting some worthwhile gowns on those coatrack models during Paris Fashion Week and I’m going to document it on my blog.”

“Butyou’re a Ladybug blog.”

“Then make something red with black spots and I’ll use that as an excuse to promo you!”

“Thanks, Alya, you’re the best.”

Alya poked Marinette’s nose. “And don’t you forget it. Speaking of fashion week, who’s the model we’re going to be drawing today?”

Marinette took out her pamphlet. “One of Agreste’s models, Marilou Beaucourt.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s probably an up-and-comer. Probably why she’s stopping by to let us draw her rather than party on a yacht somewhere with other pretty models,” said Marinette wistfully. “Like Adrien Agreste.”

Alya waved over Marinette’s head, like she was shooing away birds. “Get him out of that thought-bubble, you’re here to work, not to doodle his face on your paper and sigh.”

Marinette opened the door to the classroom, sighing wistfully just for the hell of it. “I know, I know. I just can’t help it. I keep thinking about it, if I work for Agreste I’ll be working in women’s fashion, so I’ll never get the chance to dress him in anything I make.”

Inside were a few attendees, the instructor and the model. The model was not Marilou Beaucourt but a tall, sun-kissed blond young man in a white robe, leaning back on his elbows, legs crossed and wiggling his foot impatiently.

Marinette’s brain disconnected. Whatever inner-monologue she once had was replaced with the sound of the beeping hotline, that of a landline phone right after the person on the other end of the call set their headset down. Marinette didn’t know how to put down down her own headset, it probably it just fell off the table and dangled near the floor by its coiled wire. What ever happened to landline phones?

It turns out that the ongoing “Uhhhhh…” sound was not in Marinette’s head but coming out her slack-jawed mouth as she stared at Adrien Agreste. Who was right in the middle of the room. Right in front of her. In a bathrobe.

Alya leaned over to whisper, “You might not get to dress him but you’ll get to watch him undress.”

Marinette shut her mouth before the inevitable drool could flood out of it. “Adrien.”

“I know,” said Alya, leading them to the two seats still available at the front.

“Is here,” continued Marinette.

Alya patted her on the back understandingly. “I can see that.”

Sense returned to Marinette enough for her to remember where she was and why she was there. She was here to sketch a model to get a realistic grip on the human body so she could dress them accordingly. She was here to sketch a woman. Adrien’s sculpted jaw, golden stubble and the broad shoulders that were threatening to burst out of that robe as he leant back and stretched the material, did not belong to a woman.

While staring at the bare patch of skin, at the start of a sculpted chest, Marinette finally realized “He’s naked under there.”

Adrien laughed. “I sure am.”

Horrified, Marinette dropped her pencil. “Did I say that out loud?”

Adrien sat up, folding his arms on his knees, his face now close enough for her to count his freckles. “You sure did.”

It took every ounce of her self-control to not rip out a squeal of overwhelming excitement and embarrassment. The only thought on her mind right now was “Don’t be creepy. Don’t be creepy. Don’t be creepy.”

That failed miserably. If anything her being creepy intensified when her stare grewwide and unblinking, waiting for him to say something else, to call her out on her comment about how he was naked.

Oh, God. She was going to see him naked. If only Hawkmoth released an akuma that created another Time-Breaker so she could go back in time and tell fifteen year-old Marinette of this day.

“Are you alright?” Adrien asked her. “You don’t seem too happy with me. I know you were expecting Marilou but she had to go get her hair permed and re-dyed in time for the fashion show next week.”

“How did you end up in her place?”

“Since it was pretty last minute we couldn’t book any of the other Agreste models for this job, so I volunteered to come instead.”

“That’s so nice of you,” said Marinette. “I’m sure you had better things to do than to have us stare at you.”

Adrien shrugged dismissively, ducking his head in an almost bashful manner. “It’s nothing. I’ve been modeling since I was a baby but it’s always been with a camera involved and me having to be completely still, so I figured it’d be nice to model and be able to talk for once.”

The instructor came in, catching their attention long enough to tell them to start and how long they had, and, most importantly, to not touch or bother the model. Marinette took that as a sign to stop talking to Adrien.

The last of the class settled in, Adrien stood up and shucked off his robe, his hair catching the sunlight from the windows and creating shimmering lines of gold and highlighting the cream, gold and brown shades in his hair. The freckles weren’t just in his face, they peppered his shoulders and went down his back, outlining the fading tan.

Adrien picked his first pose, setting his palm in his chin and his elbow on his crossed legs, eyes on Marinette. She felt herself getting distracted and focused on her paper, starting with his hair, his fringe, and then branching out to draw his face, neck and shoulders. When she finished the layout of his pose, Marinette looked back up to find him still looking at her.

“Hi,” he said.

Marinette blushed and looked back at her paper, shading the muscles on his calves.

“So…are you going to be attending here?” he asked.

Marinette nodded.

“I wish I could, but my life is pretty much the runway, promo and exercising, so I’m stuck with online classes at the Sorbonne,” he continued, starting to tap his fingers on his face. “It’s not like those classes can teach me how to re-sew a button on my shirt.”

“Hasn’t your father taught you the basics?”

“Nope. He’s…he’s not around much.”

The instructor told him to change his pose. The room was filled the sound of flipping papers and sharpening pencils as Adrien rearranged himself, standing up sideways, one leg propped up, his back straight and a hand on his thigh while he faced her still. “Are your parents in the business?”

“No, they’re bakers.”

Adrien’s eyes grew wide, Marinette could almost see the varieties of cakes and pastries he was imagining flip through the reflective part of his pupils like a quick slideshow. “Do you eat muffins for breakfast? Or get to decorate cakes? I always wanted to decorate a cake since it’s a lot less daunting and permanent to do it with icing rather than draw patterns in cloth paint.”

“I know, right? Marinette agreed. “I can just make a few roses and eat them if they go bad, but if the roses I make with the glue gun or craft acrylics end up an uneven mess I have to start all over again.”

“Acrylics were my nightmare in art class, they dry so fast, I can’t get the chance to change the shape before it settles!”

“The trick is to already have your pattern or idea drawn out and it’s better to have a thin tube for the paint to come out of so you can pretty much draw with it — and to not use too much pressure so it comes out thin and fluid.”

“You sound like you know all about it.”

Marinette tried to shake her head at first but then ended up nodding bashfully. “Well, this job has been a long time coming. I make a lot of my own clothes right now, makes me feel like I’m from the thirties or forties.”

“There was something infinitely glamorous about that time, it’d be pretty fitting I you made a few things that looked like they were from that time.”

Marinette finished outlining his face after his body. She spent way too much time on his nose and chin. “Oh, I plan to.”

The instructor told him to take a final pose. Adrien didn’t move much, he just brunt down his foot and set it behind him, so it looked like he was frozen mid-march, his face looking ahead but his eye still on Marinette. He didn’t say anything for a while, he just stared and Marinette stared back until Alya kicked her foot.

“Is there something wrong? I don’t have a flying bug on my nose, do I?” Marinette joked.

“No, no, it’s just you look a bit familiar, I feel like I’ve seen you before, maybe with your hair up or in a different light, maybe different colors.”

“Colors?” Marinette asked, her voice squeaking suddenly.

“People look pretty different depending on what colors they wear.”

“I know, it’s why I avoid wearing certain colors. I know which flatter me the most.”

Adrien moved his head briefly enough to wink at her. “I bet you do.”

Marinette was instantly reminded of that blasted cat and his awful puns.

The class ended with the sound of the instructor’s phone beeping. Adrien put his robe back and quickly marched out before Marinette could get another word out. She stood there for a good minute, hand half-reached out, words stuck in her throat.

“Did that just happen?”

Alya hummed, “Mhm.”

“So, I didn’t hallucinate that?”

“Unless we both took a whiff of the same chemical leak and have identical hallucinations, then no, you didn’t.” Alya took her by the arm, steering her out. “Let’s go.”

On their way out of the hall, the sound of running came up behind them and Marinette got pulled back by her elbow. The suddenness of it all activated her Ladybug survival mode and she judo-flipped Adrien.

Once she realized what she did, Marinette hopped back and spluttered out a dozen “Sorry!”s and “Are you okay?”s. Adrien rolled back up to his feet and dusted himself off, unaffected. “I’m fine! It’s okay! I shouldn’t have scared you. I, um, didn’t get your name.”

“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“I’m Adrien.”

“I know.”

They laughed awkwardly and just stood there, idly watching each other, speechless. Alya cleared her throat loudly, bringing them back to Earth.

Adrien rubbed his nape, toeing the floor. “So, would you maybe like to hang out sometime, maybe teach me how to use fabric paints or bake or stuff?”

Marinette nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh!”

“Great.” Adrien took her sketchpad and wrote his number on it. “See you soon?”

Marinette nodded again. “Yeah, soon.”

Adrien walked backwards and away. “Bye.”

When he was out of earshot, Marinette tackled Alya with a delighted scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might continue this as a multi-chapter fic? Tell me what you think on my [**Tumblr**](http://lucyclairedelune.tumblr.com)!
> 
>  
> 
> Don't forget to comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update sooner but the original chapter got deleted so I threw a fit for a few days and I had to write a replacement :(

It took a lot of her self-control to stay far, far away from her phone that week. Mostly because every time she got near it she got the raging urge to bombard Adrien with ridiculous and badly-spelled texts asking about his favorite flavor of ice cream or his brand of shampoo, wherein she'd end up actually asking "What's ur favorite flavor of shampoo?"

Marinette sighed and banged her head against her desk, probably smudging her latest sketch with the hairline sweat on her forehead. "Can't I just check, just say anything and see if he remembers me?"

She had honestly only wanted to send a "Hi!" not long after they left the Life-Art class at ESMOD but Alya threatened to kick her ass if she didn't wait a few days until she texted Adrien, just to 'play it cool'. But Marinette did not play things cool, she got worked up, overthought things and ended up flailing and tossing whatever she was holding until her room became the mess it was in today.

He had probably forgotten all about her by now, he was probably on a yacht somewhere with the rich girls of Paris.

Marinette lifted her head long enough to slide the paper out from under it and then dropped it back on the table with a soft bang and a loud huff. "Stupid."

Tikki flew up and tapped her head. "Marinette, what is it?"

"Nothing important, Tikki," Marinette murmured against her desk. "Nothing whatsoever."

Tikki flew lower so Marinette could see her out the corner of her eye, waving her half-eaten chocolate chip cookie. "There's definitely something."

"Aside from the fact that I'm pathetic?"

"You're not pathetic, you're a hero."

"That's not the context I was moping in, but thanks."

Marinette's phone suddenly rang, she rose up so fast once she recognized the embarassing personlized ringtone she had assigned to Adrien's number that she gave herself whiplash. For a few seconds she just gaped at the phone, trying to be sure that she wasn't hallucinating the glowing screen proclaiming ADRIEN as Carly Rae Jepsen's _Call Me Mayb_ e filled the room.

She swiped open the call and pressed the speaker button. "Hello?"

_"Hi! It's Adrien Agreste, we met last week?"_

Marinette had nothing to say, she feared that if she opened her mouth her internal screaming would escape.

 _"Do you remember me?"_ he asked in a small voice, prompting her to finally talk.

"Yeah! Of course! How could I forget?" Marinette laughed nervously, vividly remembering his naked chest and toned calves.

_"Great! Good! Um, what was I calling for again? Right, right, I wanted to know if you were free today?"_

Marinette's legs took on a life of their own and started kicking, tapping her feet in a giddy, sitting riverdance. "I sure am!"

Adrien laughed. _"Wanna meet up? There's this new café I like across from the Eiffel Tower, you know, the one they made in honor of Chat Noir?"_

Marinette's giddiness dropped by fifty-percent as she rolled her eyes. Chat, ever the fathead, was pretty proud of _Le Chat Charmant_ , a café that was previously destroyed but had its owner and the owner's daughter saved in the nick of time by Chat. Once Ladybug's Lucky Charm reset everything Café Rossignol was revamped into Le Chat Charmant.

_"Can you meet me there? It's my cheat day and I've been dying to get some of their pain au chocolate."_

"You like chocolate?" Marinette asked, interested.

_"Who doesn't? I like anything rich and fatty, which is why cheesecake and bacon aren't allowed in my house."_

"That's horrible."

_"That's the fashion industry. So, wanna meet there?"_

"Definitely!"

_"Alrightey then, see you in an hour!"_

Once the line went dead Marinette flew out of her seat and fell into her closet, throwing out what remained of her clean clothes out onto her bed. After a quarter an hour of pulling on and pulling off clothes Marinette picked the cream-white dress with the scattered pink roses, calling Alya as she searched through her jewelry, lifting up earring after earring to check if it matched her dress.

Alya picked up. _"Hey, girl."_

"AlyahelpAdriencalledandaskedmetomeethimandIdon'tknowwhattodoorwhattowearand --"

_"BREATHE!"_

Marinette gasped, breathing normally again.

_"Now, repeat all of that, at human speed."_

"Adrien asked me to meet him for lunch. What do I do?"

_"Go?"_

"I'm already planning on that, but what do I wear, what do I say, what does one do during something like this?"

_"Wear something flat incase you walk around after and that teardrop blue diamond necklace, also leave your hair down but wear that white headband so your hair doesn't cover your ears."_

"Got it."

_"Is this a date?"_

"I don't know?"

_"What were his exact words?"_

"He asked if I was free and could meet up at his favorite café because today was his cheat day."

_"Damn, not much to go on."_

"What do you think he wants though?" Marinette asked, trying to be rational about this. "He's a famous model, why would he want to have lunch with me?"

_"Maybe he wants a friend his dad didn't pick out for him?"_

Marinette felt a bit guilty at that comment and she wasn't entirely sure why. "I guess."

_"He did seem pretty interested in your job."_

"His father's Gabriel Agreste, sewing machines and needle have to be as uninteresting as lamps to him by now."

_"Okay then, your parents job. Talk to him about the difference between a muffin and a cupcake or whatever it is bakers talk about."_

Marinette finished dressing, ushering Tikki into her bag before putting it. "I'm ready."

_"Have fun, and remember, don't make an ass out of yourself like you did last time."_

"I'll try."

_"Atta girl, now go, go, go!"_

Marinette ended the call and sprinted down the stairs, checking her watch as she moved.

When she reached Le Chat Charmant, a quaint little shop with a fenced in outside area and a sign in the shape of a black cat, its tail curled in the air and its eyes shut pleasantly, she found Adrien already seated outside, his green eyes hungrily scanning the menu.

“Hi!”

Adrien looked up and beamed at her. It wasn’t the heart-melting smile she had seen in interviews or even friendly ones in candid fan meetings but it was borderline dorky, his mouth half-open, his tongue between his incisors and his eyes shining. “Good afternoon! Love your dress.”

Marinette gave him a twirl. “Made it myself.”

“Seriously? I haven’t seen stuff churned out by Chanel that are half this good — don’t tell Lagerfeld I said that.”

She laughed. “You’ve met Karl Lagerfeld.”

Adrien made a light cutting gesture with his hand. “Yeah, he mentored my father, he keeps asking me to call him Uncle Karl, which really doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Why? I’d be honored if the head of a fashion house asked me call them uncle, like, imagine if the head of Calvin Klein was that familiar with me?”

“Is that who you’re rooting for? I don’t know if they have any connections with ESMOD.”

“Well, no, but I just happen to like a lot of their dresses. I knew this girl in secondary school who always wore CK clothes and they were the most tolerable thing about her.”

“You’re hoping to join something more local then?”

“Oh, definitely. My dream is to influence the fashion of France, bring back floral patterns and bright colors since we seem to be in a stint of grey, beiges and autumnal orange and reds.”

Adrien stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Why would anyone willingly wear brown or beige?”

“They must be getting ready for their future as a frumpy university professor.”

A waiter sidled up to them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Agreste and guest, what would you like today.”

Adrien lifted his menu again. “Hey, Lucien, I’ll have the omelette du fromage with bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and onions, a plate of french toast, a jug of orange juice, pain au chocolat with whipped cream on the side.” Adrien looked at her from over the menu. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not.”

“And for you?” the waiter asked her.

“Seafood pasta and a Coke with lemon, please.”

He took their menus and rushed off. Marinette leaned forward on her elbows, crossing her legs so they wouldn’t continue with their nervous dance under the table. “So, what’s the occasion?”

“Nothing really, I just got out of a grueling week of preparations, Fashion Week is right around the corner and it’s been hard to escape my father and everyone who works for him, so I just needed to get out and see a friendly face.”

She tried very hard not to blush.

The waiter came back and set the orange juice and Marinette’s Coke down.

“So, your parents are bakers,” Adrien began. “What’s that like.”

“Well, it’s both pretty boring and interesting. We live above the baker somy entire life has been dough, icing and being pulled away from hot ovens.”

“Is this something they took up together or did they meet at a baking convention or something?”

“My mom’s family are all in the culinary business, her uncle has a Chinese restaurant here and her parents worked in the wedding business, her dad made the wedding cakes and her mom made the dresses — it’s where I got my start in fashion design.”

“Your grandma teach you a lot?”

“Honestly, I wish, she died before Maman and Papa met but I inherited a bunch of her old sketchpads full of designs, measurements and little tutorials and notes.”

Adrien gave her a tender smile. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Hearing about these relatives and all their quirks others see in you but you can’t check for yourself since they’re gone.”

“It really is, considering I don’t really know my mom’s family, I can’t even talk to them.”

“How come?”

“They’re Chinese and my Mandarin is nonexistent.”

“I speak Mandarin!” he said, excited. “I can teach you, provided you teach me something in return.”

“Great, we can trade. What do you need?”

The waiter returned with Adrien’s omelette and Marinette’s pasta. Adrien quickly dug in, Marinette snuck one of the tiny shrimps into her purse for Tikki.

“Remember when we talked about designing cakes being easier than clothes since you can eat your screwup? Can you like let me goof around with your icing?”

“Sure, I’ll even teach you how to bake something to use the icing on.”

By the time the french toast arrived Adrien had hoovered his omelette and down two cups of juice. Adrien dropped two slices on the edge of her plate and nudged her to eat them while he chomped off bits of his ravenously. She had to wonder what he was allowed to eat the rest of the week.

“Continue your story,” he urged.

“Story? Oh, right. So, my mom grew up baking and knew she wanted to have her own shop, so she apprenticed at a few shops and one of them was my dad’s first bakery, it was this small place run by him and a few former soldiers as this therapy project.”

“Your father was in the army?”

“Yep, and once my mom wanted to do more than make bread they started to save up until they bought their bakery and started introducing cakes, muffins, macaroons and everything else, then they got married and had me.”

“That’s such a sweet story,” he said wistfully. “My father never tells me anything about my mother, not even how they met.”

“You don’t know anything?” Marinette asked, aghast.

“I know they almost named me Félix.”

“Really? My parents almost named me Madeleine.”

Adrien snorted, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed. “Like the cake?”

“Like the cake. Imagine, Madeleine Dupain — Little Cake Bread.”

“Fitting name for a child of bakers.”

They laughed calmly, Marinette stirring the ice cubes in her drink and Adrien shaking powdered sugar on his toast.

“How’d they come up with Marinette then? It’s a very rare name.”

“Papa named me after his late mother Marine, he says when I first opened my eyes he noticed I looked exactly like her, so it went from Marine to Petite Marine to Marinette. By then Marinette had stuck so my mom couldn’t argue for any other name.”

Adrien leaned forward, chin in his palm, his eyes soft and his smile a bit sad. “You know so many stories about your family and your life. Is that normal?”

Marinette paused her chewing. “Don’t your friends tell you all about their noisy homelives?”

Adrien gave her an awkward smile. “I don’t really have friends, not close ones. Father thinks they’re a waste of time.”

“Is that why you wanted to meet?”

He nodded. “We got on pretty well at the art class, I don’t really know how to make friends that haven’t been introduced to me but I feel like we are friends, like, it’s easy talking to you, it’s like I already know you, you know?”

Half disappointed that this wasn’t a date and half confused, Marinette settled for nodding. “I know, I think.”

“So…we’re friends now?”

“Sure we are.”

The smile he gave her was almost enough to soothe her wounded pride, it may have never been intended to be a date but making happy was enough for now. Besides, it’s not like she could have ever dreamed of being close to him, let alone his friend.

A car crashed right next to them, a green and orange giant was dragging its feet through the city, picking up things and people and tossing them. Everyone in the street around them panicked and ducked out of sight. Marinette’s best shot at getting away and changing was to pretend she chickened out but Adrien was already gone with the rest of the patrons when she turned around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [**Tumblr**](http://lucyclairedelune.tumblr.com)!
> 
>  
> 
> Don't forget to comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧


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